‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he says, and I wish I could scream, No! Don’t go!

I watch him walk away before turning my attention back to Daniel with a roll of my eyes that I’m not entirely sure contributes anything useful to this situation. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,’ Daniel says, watching Mark. ‘Is he…? None of my… Well, anyway, it’s great to see you. I should…’ He signals to move on but I manage to catch him first. Suddenly, I have questions. ‘How’s…?’ I ask, realising I don’t even know the Amazonion beauty’s name. Perhaps I’ll find that out before I ask how they met. Or when.

‘Natasha? Yeah, she’s good.’ He looks over his shoulder again. ‘She’s…’ He points in the direction of a small group of friends and I see her standing there, the tallest amongst them all. The woman with legs up to her armpits and glossy, flowing hair. She’s laughing, chatting – and stunning. And that’s when I notice what I hadn’t seen before. Whilst it’s by no means imminent, she is definitely caressing a delicately swollen belly.

‘She’s pregnant?’ I hear myself as if outside of my body.

Daniel shifts on the spot. Once upon a time he had swagger and gloat; now, before me, he looks as if the life is draining from him rather like sand in an hourglass. I turn, slowly, to look him in the eye, and say it again. ‘She’s pregnant.’ It’s a statement this time.

‘Yeah.’ Daniel swallows, his face pale. ‘She’s pregnant.’

I begin nodding. Assessing the scene. My eyebrows rise higher as I continue to stare. Then the reality of what this means begins to sink in, and despite every part of me wanting not to care, wanting to be glad this proves he’s an absolute shit, despite me wanting to walk away and never see him again, despite me beginning to feel like I was over him, my heart is slowly breaking. Everything I thought I understood of our relationship for the last five years becomes a lie and I’m standing in the middle of a bowling alley, my recently ex-boyfriend in front of me and his undoubtedly pregnant girlfriend walking towards me with a smile across her face. I fight against the overwhelming urge to properly, properly cry.

‘Congratulations,’ I spit, then hiccup, hoping that if I look up at the ceiling I can flick the tears back inside my face. ‘Marriage next then,’ I say, meaning it as a bitter joke but getting the immediate impression from his half nod that not only has he gone back on his decision to never have children, but that marriage is suddenly an attractive proposition. I suppose anything’s attractive with a woman just a toga short of a goddess on your arm. ‘Right. Sure. Of course. Well, that’s…’

‘Thanks.’

‘Sure. Couldn’t be happier for you.’

‘Thanks.’I’m not sure if we are asking and answering each other’s statements with any accuracy. Or in the right order. Half sentences and pained expressions and, on my part at the very least, a desire for the universe to swallow me whole to end this nightmare. Maybe it’s not that much different to the years we were together. Natasha instinctively interlocks French-manicured fingers into his. I torture myself by trying to seek out an engagement ring and judge him on the size of it.